


Eye of the Beholder

by Tibbins



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Castiel & Sam Winchester Friendship, Dorks in Love, Encouraging Cas, Family Fluff, First Kiss, Fluff and Angst, Healing, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Jack Kline & Sam Winchester Friendship, John Winchester's A+ Parenting, M/M, POV Castiel, Sam the interrupting Moose, Season/Series 13, Slow Burn, Struggling Dean Winchester, Talking, Team Free Will 2.0, positivity
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-11
Updated: 2018-10-11
Packaged: 2019-07-29 16:33:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,207
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16268096
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tibbins/pseuds/Tibbins
Summary: Castiel thinks that Dean is beautiful and wants more than anything for him to see it too. Destiel.





	Eye of the Beholder

**Author's Note:**

> Hi everyone! I have returned from the ether! Muahahaha!
> 
> Here's a fluffy piece that I've been working on. I'm glad that I managed to get at least ONE of my WIPs finished before the new episode. Who's excited? I'm excited! Who's going to die? MEEEEEEE!
> 
> Enjoy ^_^

Castiel looked at Dean sometimes and he could feel it happening; the slow build of the bone-deep warmth and intensity that he couldn't put a word to. It started somewhere behind his gut, just south of his heart; from there it spread, gushing into his chest to fill that entire cavity before tendrils began to snake upwards, throbbing comfort into his neck, joy in his cheeks, a flash of recklessness in his ears. The feeling would bubble out in seconds like soda going flat, but it didn't leave behind the coldness one would expect, instead, it always left him with a lingering thought, the same one every time,  _Dean is beautiful_.

This feeling happened in all sorts of situations: in the kitchen while Dean created something new from the fresh ingredients Sam had just brought, or glancing over at him in the cheap motel room after he let out a particularly loud snore, or in the middle of battle, fire in his eyes as he brought his blade down with terrifying justice, or watching from the backseat of the impala while he pushed his entire soul into singing along to his favourite tapes, or a sarcastic remark to lighten a grim situation, or the way he would laugh off a compliment, although that particular scenario brought with it a bittersweet anger and Castiel never felt quite as warm afterwards, or even during an argument, face flushed with fury, voice raised as though his point would go through if he just stated it loudly enough. Thousands of moments, hundreds of situations, dozens of variations, but it only ever brought one thought,  _Dean is beautiful._

Now, Castiel understood that Dean was an attractive man. He had very symmetrical features, he was tall—though he didn't always look it when he stood next to Sam—and he had a boyish charm that was illogical considering Dean was forty years old. But it wasn't the way his hair spiked up when he ran a hand through it, or the way the sun brought out his freckles, or even the dimples that only appeared with irritation; no, those things were beautiful but they didn't invoke that feeling.

Castiel had been around beauty for as long as he could remember. Angels were beautiful creatures; each one's true form was exquisite and dazzling in its own uniqueness. Heaven too was richly decorated; not the utilitarian corridors and artificial perfection of the office spaces of the angels, but the heavens themselves; each one was intricately woven to a person's own bliss, containing wonders glimpsed or imagined, music and light and sights natural and man-made that adorned every room. Even the simpler ones of beloved homes or comforting—though not necessarily aesthetic—places had a texture to them that made everything just a little more pleasing to look on. No two were exactly the same but they were all beautiful.

But Heaven didn't invoke that feeling either.

No, it was only Dean. It was the soft look he got sometimes when he was feeling particularly protective, it was the way he got angry when he was worried, the way he relaxed when he cooked, with easy smiles and, if asked, a narration of what he was doing; it was the way he held on too tightly to his failures, the way he drank less when he felt safe, the way he looked at Sam with admiration and pride; it was the good and the bad at war with each other and the way he desperately craved company. It was those moments when his soul broke through the cracks of his human features, pouring forth the complicated mess of the true Dean Winchester.  _That_  was surely the most beautiful thing in all of creation.

Castiel had tried to mention this to Dean but upon hearing the word 'beautiful' Dean had blushed and scoffed that chicks seemed to dig it before loudly changing the topic, he had also avoided eye contact for several days afterwards. Castiel hadn't broached the topic again.

So instead he watched, quietly cataloguing each moment that the feeling engulfed him and tried to make Dean see it for himself.

 

***

 

"You have a nice singing voice," he commented once, after Dean had just finished a quiet rendition of 'Simple Man' on their way to a crime scene while Sam went to interview the family.

Dean had glanced at him, his eyes narrowed suspiciously, but upon realising that he wasn't being mocked he flushed and mumbled,

"Thanks, Cas."

When the next song came on, Dean sang a little louder.

 

***

 

"Are sweatpants really that comfortable?" He asked, holding up a pair of Jack's that had been worn threadbare. The boy had only taken them off because Dean was doing laundry, despite promises that they would get him another pair, "You don't seem to wear them much."

Dean looked scandalised.

"Sweatpants are the comfiest freaking things that will ever cover your butt," he said firmly, eyes wide and excitable, the way he always got when he got to introduce Castiel to something new, "when we go to Walmart we're getting you some too, and while we're at it, me and Sam could use some new ones."

After that, Castiel wore his sweatpants whenever they had a free day and after a little while Dean began to follow suit, taken to lounging more, softening the hard lines of his posture as he allowed himself this small comfort.

 

***

 

"That smells good," he said, sniffing appreciatively as he entered the kitchen to the aroma of sizzling meat in a tomato and herb sauce, "I'm sure Sam and Jack will be pleased,"

"It's nothin'," Dean said, "just a quick bolognese, Sammy'll probably complain about the fat content."

"Sam never complains when you cook something from scratch," Castiel said casually, taking his place at the table. He didn't look at Dean, he knew that the hunter got uncomfortable when Castiel stared at him in moments like this, sometimes he ignored that in favour of getting his point across, but Castiel didn't want Dean to think of his comment as having any significance on his part, he just wanted to give him the words to mull over in his own time.

Dean harrumphed in the way Castiel had learned was mostly an automatic response and said nothing.

Sam and Jack both had nothing but compliments about the food and Dean didn't suggest take-out for another fortnight.

 

***

 

"Dean, a light keeps blinking on my dashboard. Could you take a look at it when you have a moment?"

"Sure thing, Cas," Dean said, standing up from where he was flopped on the couch and stretching, only scooting to the side after loud complaints from Sam and Jack that he was blocking the screen, "what's gotta be fixed?"

"The light," Cas repeated, "I find it very obnoxious."

Dean chuckled, following him out of the room towards the garage, "you know that light means something, right? Like your oil pressure, or your brakes."

"I assumed it had a meaning, but the car seems to be working fine."

"Well, it never hurts to check," Dean said indulgently, sliding into the front seat and switching the car on, "yep, that's the engine light. Why don't you go watch some Netflix with the others? Depending on what this is, it could take a while."

Castiel passed Dean his toolbox and stood unobtrusively by the hood, "I think it best if you explain to me what you're doing," he said, "I should be able to fix it myself, though I can't promise I won't bother you again, I trust your judgement more than mine when it comes to the mechanical."

Castiel didn't miss the small smile of pleasure, though Dean did his best to hide it. He cleared his throat and dipped down to check the gas cap, nodding to himself as he rounded the car,

"Well, okay then, if you wanna be able to take care of her, I'll teach you the basics first, but it's no bother, Cas, really, I like cars, and I'd rather you come to me than get stuck in the middle of nowhere and no way to get in touch with us 'cause you forgot to charge your phone or something."

"If that were to happen I'd just walk until I found a phone, but failing that I could walk all the way home, I don't feel fatigue like a human."

"Still," Dean said, popping open the hood, though he looked pleased at Cas' answer, "better to be safe."

"You should adhere to that more yourself," Cas said, a hint of sternness in his tone, "you do have a tendency to be reckless."

Dean rolled his eyes, "See, this here is the carburettor," he said, pointing to a large chunk of metal in the hood of the car, before launching into a lecture of what it was used for and how it worked and how it connected to other parts. Castiel let the topic change easily and peppered Dean with questions simple and complex that kept Dean talking for hours, his eyes alight with pride when he asked Castiel a question and received the correct answer. After he fixed the problem on the continental, walking Castiel through every step, he kept going, and even showed him around the garage and pointed out some of his favourites of the old cars and what made them special (Baby of course was in a category all her own). Castiel was fascinated, less by the cars and more by Dean's passion for them.

That feeling was building in him again, watching Dean so unrestrained, talking about something he liked that didn't have anything to do with hunting, Castiel's questions encouraged him to take tangents, some childhood stories about teaching Sam to drive, about the first time a car he'd jacked for a case had broken down on him; he never seemed to tire, and so Castiel kept questioning, as many questions as he could think of, some Dean found more ridiculous than others, but he answered them all. When there were no more questions to ask they headed back inside, where Sam was making dinner.

"Did Cas' entire engine explode or something?" He asked, ladling Dean a bowl of soup with a sandwich on the side when they walked in, "you were gone for hours."

Dean's ears turned pink as he took the food and sat down with it, "we just got talking," he mumbled.

"Oh man," Sam said with a warm smile, "I'm sorry you had to sit through that, Cas, once Dean gets going on cars it's damn near impossible to stop him."

He said it as a gentle rib but Dean's ears reddened further.

"I found it all very interesting," Castiel said honestly and firmly, "the way that humans have made so many different kinds of automobiles is fascinating. Angels would have found one design that worked and just duplicated it, but you? You create for curiosity's sake; for aesthetics or practicality or speed. And Dean could tell you the intricate workings of each one. There's a kind of magic in that, don't you think?"

Sam's smile grew and he nodded. Dean said nothing, though he looked between the two of them for a moment before snorting and starting on the soup.

 

***

 

Castiel picked the gauze from Dean's side as gently as he could, but Dean still hissed as the claw marks were exposed to the cool air,

"Couldn't you just heal it with a touch?" He complained as Castiel pulled at the tape sticking the cloth to his skin.

"I could," Castiel said. Then he paused as he took in the deep lacerations, still oozing blood even hours later although there was no trace of infection, Sam had probably doused it with whatever bottle of whisky Dean had had lying around. He pulled in air through his teeth in a sympathetic sound, "I hate seeing you hurt."

"Then why are you looking?" Dean groused, he was pale from blood-loss and dehydrated. His blood-soaked t-shirt had been dropped unceremoniously by the chair he now sat in.

"Because I need to remind myself that this will happen again," he said, tracing the wounds with his fingertips, "because there are no safe hunts and I can't always be there and I can't pretend that the pain doesn't matter just because I can take it away."

He swallowed hard and looked away, placing his hand over the cuts and sending healing grace through it to close them.

Dean took a deep, cleansing breath and twisted his torso in the seat, testing himself.

"Thanks, man," he said, once he'd deemed everything back in working order, "but you don't gotta worry about me and Sam, you know. We've got a pretty good streak going for bouncing back."

"That streak only needs to be broken once," Castiel said, standing up from his crouch and fetching a clean t-shirt from Dean's duffel bag, "so I worry." He handed Dean the shirt and perched on the edge of the table. Dean tugged it on and met his eyes, there was an understanding in them. Presumably, he worried just as much as Castiel did. He had no platitudes to offer that Castiel would buy and he knew it.

"I'll never ask you to ignore your instincts." Castiel continued, "I know danger is part of the life we have chosen and I wouldn't ask it of you to hold back if someone else needs you. And I know that you can't promise that you will always come home, but every time you take an unnecessary risk like tonight, when you throw yourself in front of danger as though you mean nothing, it's one more gamble and it hurts to see how willing you are to place a bet."

With that he turned on his heel and headed for his room. It was only after he closed the door that shame settled in his gut; that had been far more direct than he had wanted. Probably too direct. He doubted that Dean would get anything positive from that particular exchange, despite the fact all he had been trying to indicate was that he had people who loved him, who cared when he got hurt. But those cuts had been deep and he'd had bruised ribs and a concussion to boot. Not the worst Castiel had ever healed him from but still, that pain mattered.

 

***

 

He'd expected some awkwardness after that conversation but the next morning Sam had caught wind of another case and they'd re-packed the impala and headed out. Castiel didn't hunt much with the Winchesters anymore. Instead he spent his time training Jack in combat. They had all agreed that they would not take Jack on another case until he learned more control over his powers, and Castiel had insisted that when that happened, he would need to know how to fight like a human. Sam and Dean helped out too, Sam taught him more hand-to-hand combat while Dean took over teaching him to shoot and Castiel focused more on the art of fighting with a blade. Jack excelled at all three, though he needed to work on his patience and his instincts, which Dean argued would only come with actual experience out in the world. Castiel was less sure, he wanted to give Jack the opportunity to hone his skills in a safe place where his emotions—and therefore his powers—wouldn't overwhelm him and lead to another accident like Dodge City. He missed hunting but Jack needed him more. He knew that the brothers could handle themselves, but that didn't stop him from worrying. Even if they did check in every couple of days.

Once the hunt was over, Sam called to tell him they were on their way back.

"So turns out, the shifter practised witchcraft," Sam told him over the quiet strains of soft rock, "which explains the victims' erratic behaviour, so  _that's_  why we thought it was pure witch until that kid caught a video on her phone."

"Any injuries?" Castiel asked. He always asked Sam, he knew Sam would be truthful with him while Dean—unless Sam's life was on the line—would blatantly lie and Castiel would have to do a double take when he walked in with blood down one side of his face or a pronounced limp.

"Not a one," Sam said, "unless you count Dean walking into a door frame when he wasn't looking."

Castiel snorted and he heard Dean mutter something on the other end.

"It actually went really smooth, Cas," Sam carried on in his reassuring way, "once we figured out what we were up against we made a couple of silver witch-killing bullets and iced him before he could curse Melissa too. Dean got there first but the guy hadn't actually started the ritual yet so he waited for me to get there before we went in. It actually gave me an idea, if we can combine all the bullets we need on a regular basis: iron, silver, gold, devil's trap, witch, and coat them in dead man's blood then we'll have all the basics covered in one round. Of course it won't work for everything, and it'll take a lot of work to make them, but it could really help us narrow down what we're looking for if one of those doesn't work."

"That's a great idea, Sam," Castiel said enthusiastically, running the possibilities through his mind, "especially on cases where it's not so clear what you're dealing with."

"Yeah, that's what I thought," Sam said, clearly pleased, "we can talk about it more when we get back, I'm beat."

"Alright, sleep well, Sam."

Bye, Cas."

He heard Dean shouting goodbye as well before the call was cut off. He smiled, pleased that Dean had refrained from charging in recklessly and hoped that it would become a habit.

 

***

 

"What are you watching?" Castiel asked, walking into one of the rec-rooms to find Dean splayed out on the sofa, a bag of chips in his hand. He jumped when the angel walked in and hurried to pause the TV on a scene of people in white coats, "is it a medical documentary?"

"Err… no," Dean said, "it's just a soap opera that I watch sometimes. It's stupid, but the new season just came out so it's on catchup," he shrugged.

"Don't let me stop you," Castiel said, edging into the room, "I was looking for something different to watch anyway, if you don't mind the company."

"You won't like it, Cas," Dean said, reaching for the remote, "Sam hates it. How about that new Marvel movie? That's meant to be pretty good."

"I would like to watch this," Castiel said decisively, sitting on the couch where Dean had shuffled up to make room, "it looks interesting. Will it still make sense if I begin watching it here?"

"I guess, it's mostly episodic. I'll just restart this one, I was only a couple of minutes in," he sounded resigned as he said it and he didn't fully relax for the entire episode. Castiel stayed quiet, taking in Dean's defensive posture, even as he tried to puzzle out the plot—such as it was—unfolding on the screen. When the credits began to roll, Dean paused again and turned to him.

"What'd you think?" He asked nonchalantly, though Castiel could tell by the way his shoulders had set and the slight shake in his voice that he was anything but blasé, "It's stupid, right?"

"I'm not sure I understand why Doctor Warner and Doctor Sanchez felt the need to copulate in a patient's cupboard," he said, tilting his head in confusion, "but I understand why you enjoy it. The world seems to have very few consequences but it still manages to be engaging, with a focus on character rather than plot."

Dean blinked at him for a few seconds and then laughed a surprised, relieved laugh, "Yeah, that's exactly it," he said, "wanna watch the next one?"

"Sure," Castiel said, shrugging off his trenchcoat and laying it over the back of the sofa.

"Okay, before we do, you're gonna need to know a couple things, so in season three it turns out that Doctor Munroe..."

Castiel listened attentively while Dean caught him up on the workings of Seattle Mercy Hospital; even when he finally played the episode Dean kept talking over it, nudging Castiel when Doctor Piccolo made a dramatic entrance.

"See, you won't get this bit, but she actually had a baby in season two and no one's seen it since; now, I have a theory that it's gonna be that kid that's been hiding in the vents 'cause she was talking about struggling making her rent last season so I think she's been living in the hospital."

"That makes sense," Castiel whispered back, "I think you're right, when she dropped her bag there was a shot of at least two different shirts in there."

Dean nodded and glanced back at the screen as Doctor Piccolo gathered up her bag and left, "Nice catch, Cas."

 

***

 

"Man, I am such an idiot." Dean muttered to himself just as Castiel was passing by the kitchen, he was staring at the crossword puzzle in the paper Sam had completed and discarded, "I never would've gotten half of these."

"You solve mysteries for a living, Dean," Castiel said, making the hunter flinch, "and make your own weapons half the time, you won't find any of that in the New York Times."

"Yeah, but Sam does all that too  _and_  he can solve these," he said, pushing the paper away in disgust.

Castiel had never heard Dean disparage himself so overtly before, he was normally snider, more witty about his self-deprecation, or more despairing depending on the situation, but this… this was pure hatred and it worried him. He was clearly in a sour mood following their last hunt, they had been just slightly too late to save the vampire's final victim. Dean reached for the beer next to him and raised it to his lips, taking a hearty swig, "I'm not trying to be a dick, I'm not," he said, "I just think sometimes, if I were smarter, if I were more like Sam, maybe less people would die."

Castiel took the stool opposite Dean and pressed his fingertips together on the table in front of him.

"If you were smart like Sam," he began after a long pause, speaking slowly and deliberately, choosing each word with care, "then you wouldn't notice the things that Sam misses. If you were smart like Sam, then you might not have learned all that you did about being a hunter because you would have focused on your own studies. If you were smart like Sam, then you wouldn't have tried so hard to save me when I said yes to Lucifer," he slid his hands across the table and nudged Dean's clasped ones, "the world already has someone who is smart like Sam Winchester," he continued, waiting until Dean met his eyes to do so, "and the world is better because of it, but it is still spinning because it  _also_  has someone who is smart like you." He smiled softly at the expression on Dean's face, he was drinking in Castiel's every word, allowing them and his own conflicting beliefs to collide rather than blocking them like he normally would. He looked so very vulnerable and Castiel's heart broke for him, but he couldn't fight this war, he could only try and help Dean to see that it was a war worth fighting.

"Besides," he said after a few moments, "you raised him. You raised him and he is smart like he is because of you."

Dean didn't reply. He looked away, dropping his head to look down at the table and he brought his hands into his lap, hunching his shoulders, closing himself in the way a child did when afraid.

This was too much, perhaps; too much to confront Dean with when he was already raw and open, but it was too late to recall the words so Dean had to deal with them.

Dean sat there for the next three and a half hours in complete silence. Castiel sat with him, unwilling to leave him alone to face whatever it was he had spent most of his life  _not_  facing.

_Dean is beautiful._

If only he could see it.

Eventually, Dean wiped a hand down his face as though jolted from his reverie and Castiel looked up to meet his eyes, searching for a clue as to the decision he had arrived at. There was none. Instead, Dean excused himself, patting Cas once on the shoulder as he passed, leaving his beer behind.

Castiel finished it off before throwing the bottle into the recycling. The alcohol would do nothing for him but the bubbles were a pleasant distraction from his writhing insides. He hoped that he hadn't just made things worse.

 

***

 

"I know what you've been doing," Sam said after knocking on Castiel's door a week later and slipping inside.

"What?" Castiel frowned up at him, confused, placing a bookmark to mark his page before setting the book down on the desk, "I'm researching the purity of metals needed in order to kill or affect specific creatures. If we're going to make those bullets we want them to be effective and this way, we should save time on prototypes if we can get the measurements at least somewhat accurate."

"I don't mean that," Sam said, smiling faintly as he sat on the bed, "I mean with Dean."

Castiel blinked, "I don't understand," he said honestly. After the incident a week ago, Dean was much the same, he didn't seem either enlightened or scarred by what had happened so Castiel had assumed that he had chosen to reject his words and act like they had never been spoken. Not the reaction he would have preferred perhaps, but better than it could have been.

"The way you've been complimenting him, implying that he's good at things, that he's smarter than he thinks, that he doesn't have to be ashamed of the things he likes?"

"Oh," Castiel said, "that."

"Yeah, that," Sam said, amused at Castiel's reaction, "you're doing a good thing, Cas and I just wanted to thank you."

Castiel shook his head, "You don't have to," he said with a sigh, "I'm not sure it's even making a difference."

"Are you serious?" Sam asked, shock flickering over his face, "Cas, it's  _working_ , haven't you noticed?"

"Errr…" Castiel said, "I mean, a little perhaps,"

"Try a  _lot,_ " Sam disputed, "he's more confident than I've ever seen him.  _Real_  confidence, not just bravado. He's drinking less and eating better and hunting safer. He doesn't even cut himself off mid-sentence anymore when he's talking about a new recipe or whatever, how'd you swing that?"

"I just let him talk," Castiel said simply, "I think, sometimes he just needs someone to listen and not judge him. I think he feels that you would mock him for certain things that are important to him. But considering that he actively works to  _hide_  the fact that those things are important to him, you can't really been blamed."

Sam pulled his lower lip between his teeth and worried at it, ashamed, "I know sometimes I make jokes and say things that hit him harder than I mean them to," he said, "I know that doesn't help. I think part of it's because we're brothers and that's what siblings  _do_ , push each other's buttons just for a reaction but I also think it's a habit of a lifetime of cruelty."

Sam swallowed hard and passed a hand over his face, looking down into his own lap. He looked so guilty that for the first time, Castiel truly understood what Dean meant by Sam's 'puppy eyes'.

"Sam," Castiel said softly, stepping forward to place a hand on the younger Winchester's shoulder, "you're not cruel."

"I  _was,_ " Sam argued, "I didn't know it at the time but I could be such a brat. I idolised Dean but you'd never have known it the way I treated him sometimes. I'd make fun of the shows he liked, the books he read; I'd tease him if he ever struggled with his homework. Sometimes I think that's part of the reason he gave up on school, 'cause I never gave him the chance to enjoy it, and he's so smart, but he just doesn't see it 'cause it's not Stanford smart, you know?"

"I know," Castiel said, thinking back to his conversation with Dean in the kitchen, "but like you said, he's getting better,"

"Yeah, thirty years too late," said Sam bitterly.

"It's an unfortunate truth that were you and your bother more well-adjusted you probably wouldn't have been as capable at saving the world," Castiel said kindly, taking hold of his chair and spinning it so he could sit and face Sam properly, "besides, you were a child, Sam, and your childhood was just as difficult as Dean's was, or are you telling me that he never got under your skin too?" he smiled, having witnessed some of the bickering that went on between the two brothers, Sam let out a weak chuckle.

"I guess, but it never affected me like it did him. Perks of being the youngest, probably. I knew that Dean would be there for me whenever I needed him, no matter what. No matter if we were fighting or hadn't spoken in months or were five states apart, I  _always_  knew that if I called him, he would drop everything to help me and he never gave me a reason to doubt that, not once. But I never stopped talking about wanting to leave. I wanted so badly to get out of the hunting life, to go to college, settle down somewhere for longer than a few months at a time, to find my own life away from the family business, away from Dad, away from Dean."

"And you  _blame_  yourself for that?" Castiel asked incredulously, though he shouldn't be surprised, the amount of unnecessary guilt that these two brothers piled onto themselves was astounding and would have long since buckled any other human.

"My brother was my hero," Sam said quietly, running a hand through his hair the way he did when he was upset, "but he could never rely on me the way I did on him because he knew that I didn't want to be there. How is that fair?"

"Perks of being the youngest," echoed Castiel with a shrug, "your confidence in your brother offered you a security that he never had. Of  _course_  you wanted out, Sam. Dean did his best but you didn't exactly have a pleasant upbringing; your father was harsh and more often absent than not and your brother was trying so hard to follow in his footsteps which must have been incredibly isolating for you, especially considering how difficult it would be to make friends when you moved around so much; you also knew of the existence of monsters from a very young age which separated you from the rest of the world, resulting in further loneliness. College must have seemed like salvation, an escape from the constant danger, from living off fraud, a piece of normality that you desperately craved. And one of the reasons that you were capable of making that happen for yourself—aside from your own tenacity—is because Dean didn't raise you like the soldier he was made into, he raised you so that you had options, and he may not have understood or liked those options but it's important to know that you weren't abandoning him when you left, you were just following what he taught you, that what you want matters."

"And what about what  _he_  wanted?" Sam said, his voice a little too loud for the quiet room. He glanced at the door, took a sharp breath and let it out slowly before continuing, "I know he used to go hungry just so that he could make sure I had three squares a day, I remember that he'd go out late and come back early with take-out and a wad of cash that I wasn't supposed to ask about; I know that once, I got scratched by a werewolf on my arm and he insisted that Dad patch me up first, even though he had a concussion, two broken ribs and a dislocated collarbone! I never wanted him to put me first like that, not at the cost of his own safety, his own happiness."

Castiel pressed his lips together, it always pained him to think of how self-sacrificing Dean was, especially when it came to Sam. It went far beyond nobility or bravery or even family, it was something etched too deep, something disturbing and ugly and dangerous.

"That wasn't your fault either, Sam," he said darkly, thinking of John, all those lessons that Dean must have endured, each one further scratching in the most important rule of all into his soul, the one that came before everything else, no matter how painful, no matter how distasteful, no matter the cost, 'watch out for Sammy.'

Sam's eyes flashed with anger, apparently he was thinking along a similar vein.

"God forbid I ever point out," he spat, "that maybe  _Dad_  should've been the one looking out for us both. And if I got mad at Dad but he wasn't around for me to yell at, I'd take it out on Dean, because he always stuck up for him and I never understood why. And sure, he'd argue back and we'd fight, but he always knew when to stop, he never crossed a line that really  _hurt_  me until the night I left for Stanford, though he got close a few times. But I didn't pull my punches and Dean would just take it. I think back on some of the things I said and it explains a lot, you know? I wish I could take it all back. I was angry and stupid and-"

"-and a  _child,_ " Castiel repeated, "You acted like a child because you were one, and Dean was your parent, and it is not your fault that he was thrown into that role too young and unprepared. How were you supposed to realise what he was afraid of when he was so intent on appearing strong? How were you supposed to understand his pain in grieving for a mother that you never knew? You weren't forced into selflessness, Sam, you came by it the same way other selfless people do, by learning it from those who allowed you to be selfish as a child. In some ways, that's even more admirable, because you  _chose_  to devote your life to helping others. Dean just never knew another way."

Sam just looked down at his knees, unconvinced.

"I'm not saying that you were never unkind," Castiel continued, "but you couldn't have known that those moments of unkindness would have such consequences. It is not your fault that Dean was taught obedience rather than confidence, or that he was made to protect others rather than consider his own safety. Punishing yourself won't help either of you now."

"I've never been able to help him," Sam said miserably, clearly caught in his dark train of thought, "not really," he glanced up at Castiel and there were unshed tears in his hazel eyes, "I've known Dean my  _entire life_  and I could never make him relax the way you can. It's like he always feels that he's got to prove something to me, as though he doesn't trust me to want to stay on my own. If there isn't something big to fight then he starts to get jumpy, like he thinks that I'm just gonna pack my bags and leave, as though this is still something that I can walk away from."

Castiel hummed thoughtfully for a moment, allowing Sam's immediate rush of feeling to abate slightly before challenging it.

"It's the same way that you always feel like you have something to prove to him," he said carefully, "the things that you haven't forgiven yourself for, the times you're trying to compensate when Dean is overly-protective or particularly vulnerable. You're brothers, and your relationship is built on a lifetime of looking out for each other," he sighed, "I- I'm not completely sure on how to phrase this without being insulting but you are both incredibly stubborn and neither of you like to admit when you need help, especially from each other. And for you, personal insecurity doesn't even place on your list of problems. I know that you have seen each other at your worst, but there is still a level of performance to the way you act around each other when things are calm I've noticed. I think it's born of a need to reassure the other that you're fine.  _You_  emphasise your healthy habits, let's face it, Sam, no one likes salad  _that_  much and you hate noir as much as Dean does, you just pick it to annoy him."

Sam snorted and raised his shoulders in a half-apologetic shrug. Castiel smiled.

"And Dean laughs too loudly at crude jokes that he doesn't actually find funny, and he eats too much when other people are watching because that's what he thinks they expect, because that  _is_  what you expect from each other, whether you're aware that it's an act or not, it's your way of projecting that things are normal; that you're the smart one and Dean's the juvenile one when actually you're both well-rounded people. You're the one that began the last three consecutive prank wars, and Dean will more often go for a piece of fruit than a bag of chips if he thinks no one will notice. In some ways, you two are more honest with each other than you can be with anyone else, but in others, you just want to be what the other expects so that they don't worry. Which is why I think it's easier for me to try and help Dean understand his worth, he already expects me to say unusual and uncomfortable things."

Sam puffed up his cheeks before letting the breath out slowly, "Wow," he said after a moment, "you're right. I mean, I  _knew_  that I was doing it and I knew that he was too but I never really thought about it. Man, now that you've said it it sounds so stupid."

"Not stupid," Castiel insisted, "just comfortable,"

"You made it sound like we're lying to each other."

"I didn't mean it like that," said Castiel, leaning back in his chair, "everyone acts differently around different people, and they're all still  _you_  but some feel more honest than others."

"And you think me and Dean are less honest around each other?" Sam said, he didn't sound accusatory, only like he was trying to puzzle something out.

Castiel tilted his head, frowning, trying to order his thoughts, "I think that you and Dean have had very little stability in your lives and that when you do have it, you try to make the most of it by exaggerating the way that you act when you feel safe, you tease each other and try not to show any of those parts of you that are just getting the chance to heal. If that makes sense."

Sam nodded, "Yeah," he said, "a little too much sense actually."

He was quiet for a time and Castiel felt a sudden sense of déjà vu, sitting with Sam in comfortable silence until he stood, told him goodnight and left.

 

***

 

The next morning, Sam came into the kitchen with his dressing gown on over his t-shirt and sweatpants, hair sticking up. He had clearly just rolled out of bed. Dean was already showered and dressed, frying bacon and eggs.

"Mornin' sasquatch," Dean said when Sam shuffled in, "breakfast?"

"Please," Sam said with a smile, sliding onto the stool next to Jack.

Dean portioned out the food and sat with his own, staring at Sam, his eyes narrowed,

"Little late for you this morning, isn't it?" he asked in an attempted casual tone.

"Yeah, I didn't really feel like going for a run."

Dean put a hand over his heart in mock surprise, but Castiel could see the genuine concern in his eyes.

"No run  _and_  a fried breakfast? Are you sick or something?"

Sam laughed and glanced at Cas before answering, "No, Dean, I'm not sick. I just wanted a lie in."

"Is that unusual?" Jack asked, cocking his head, "I enjoy sleeping late too."

"Yeah but you're a teenager... kinda," Dean said, his voice teasing but still not quite reaching his eyes, "and Sam loves jogging."

Sam shrugged, and Dean's eyes practically bugged out of his head, "Okay, that's it! I'm checking your room for hex bags."

"Dean, come on," Sam said, reaching over to nudge Dean's plate closer to him to discourage him leaving the table. Dean sank back down again with a grumble, "I like running, yeah, but doing it every day can get a bit much."

"That makes sense," Castiel chimed in, "what are your plans for the rest of the day?"

Sam tilted his head, considering, "I dunno, I mean, I suppose I should probably catch up on some chores, I know there's a bunch of laundry to do."

"Not that much," Dean said through a mouthful of eggs, "I did a few loads last night. I had to chuck that shirt you were wearing in that vamp nest though, Sam,"

"Damn," Sam said, "did it get splashed that much?"

"No, it was just ugly."

Sam laughed, "alright, I guess I'll mop the floors then."

"You wanna clean? Like… you're volunteering to clean?" Dean asked, "are you sure you're not cursed? You hate cleaning."

"Dean, I'm thirty-six."

"And yet you always find an excuse to get out of cleaning, hell,  _Cas_  has cleaned more than you have and he doesn't even make dust."

"I like to think I've left my mark in other ways," Castiel said primly, gathering up the dishes and placing them in the sink. Dean glanced over at him when he spoke but didn't respond to his words. He leaned forward, elbows on the table, staring at his brother with mixed suspicion and concern.

"Are you sure, you're okay?"

"Is it really that unusual for him to clean?" Jack asked, looking as Sam with something akin to awe, as though hoping for tips on how to get out of unpleasant chores.

"Yes," Dean said immediately, not breaking eye contact with his brother. Sam stared back calmly,

"I'm good, Dean, really. I'm just trying to break some bad habits is all," he glanced over at Castiel again, who nodded back. Dean glanced between them, eyes narrowed, but Sam's answer and steady gaze seemed to have calmed him. He shrugged and sat back.

"Well, alright then. Don't forget to re-do the Devil's traps if you scrub at any, and if you can double check the warding on your way around, that'd be great."

"Cool," Sam said, patting Dean on the shoulder before heading out to the closet of cleaning supplies.

"I'll help," Jack said, jumping up to follow, "I haven't really looked much at the warding before."

Once he was gone, Dean sat back in his chair, looking rather put-out, "he hates cleaning," he said again, in a small voice.

"He's a grown man," Castiel said, taking the seat opposite Dean, "maybe he thinks it's time he stopped letting you do all the chores. I mean, you cook, you clean, you iron, you do the laundry, don't you think we should all pitch in?"

"I don't mind," Dean mumbled, "I like doing it."

"You like looking after people," Castiel corrected him, "which is one of your best qualities. But these are the easy things, Dean. Chores would be a good way to teach Jack some basic human skills that we've been neglecting,  _and_  they're a way for Sam to tell you that you don't need to be his parent anymore."

"I'm not his-" Dean sighed, cutting himself off, "he thinks I'm smothering him."

"He thinks that he's let you take charge of the everyday things because you're more comfortable when you're in control and he never minded. But this isn't taking point on a hunt, and you two have been through too much not to be on equal footing at this point. It's such a small thing, Dean, and I think it would be good for the both of you."

"You make me sound like an obsessive housewife." Dean grumbled.

Castiel rolled his eyes, "look at it this way, you now have more time to watch  _Dr Sexy MD_ , are you really going to pass on that opportunity?"

Dean hesitated for a moment and then chuckled, defeated but not altogether displeased, "No, I guess not."

 

***

 

After they had sorted out a rotation of chores, easily adjustable for when cases came up, things settled into further domesticity. It was amusing to watch really, while Dean was in an almost constant state of befuddlement Sam and Jack took to it enthusiastically, Sam using the excuses of grocery and supply shopping to take Jack to the movies or various museums or the arcade and the two of them would return with a box of pie, some novelty keychains and huge grins. Castiel was pleased to see them bond, but sometimes Dean would get a pained glint in his eye when he walked in on Sam and Jack playing video games. Castiel asked him about it once. Dean shook his head.

"It just makes me miss Charlie," he said, "and Kevin. Our family feels a lot smaller than it should be sometimes."

Castiel placed his hand on Dean's shoulder, there was nothing else to say. No words would close the gaps left by the people they had lost on the journey to get here.

Dean's lips twitched in a sad smile and, to Castiel's surprise, he lifted his hand to touch Castiel's for half a second before letting it drop. Castiel squeezed Dean's shoulder once before removing his hand too, then Jack let out a whoop of triumph and Dean turned towards them, calling out that he would play the winner.

 

***

 

"I'm proud of you." Castiel said warmly one evening, after Sam and Jack had retired, worn out from training and then a Sam-and-Jack patented adventure to a nearby—and secluded—lake, because Jack had mentioned that he wasn't sure he knew how to swim and Sam didn't think it would be sensible to take him to a public pool just in case he freaked and lost control of his powers. Apparently Jack had mastered the doggy paddle, but didn't really bother learning any of the other strokes Sam tried to teach him, having more fun splashing around and diving to look for interesting rocks, particularly when it turned out that he could stay under long enough to nearly give Sam a heart attack before popping up behind him and squirting water from his mouth, making Sam—according to Jack—'shriek like a little girl.' Dean had guffawed particularly loudly at that part of the story.

But now Dean and Cas had just finished the season two finale of  _Dr Sexy MD_ (Dean had suggested watching it from the beginning so the later seasons would make more sense and also because he wanted the excuse to watch it again) and they were both sprawled over opposite ends of the sofa, a bowl of popcorn on Cas' side, and a giant bottle of soda on Dean's.

"What?" Dean asked absently, clicking the TV off and sitting up to stretch, rolling his head until Castiel heard his neck pop, then Dean looked up as though just hearing what Cas had said, "proud of me? What for?"

"Just… generally." Castiel said with a shrug, feeling it probably best not to mention the fact that he hadn't seen Dean drink anything more than one beer in the past several days. Dean's drinking wasn't something that they talked about, although there were times when Castiel deeply wanted to. He had had hushed discussions with Sam when things had been particularly worrying, but neither had been brave enough to actually broach the subject, "You've experienced things that no other living being could reasonably endure, but you did, and you came through it with your ability to care unchanged, it's remarkable."

Dean snorted, though there was a slight pink tinge to his cheeks, "Gee, thanks, Mr Rogers."

Castiel smiled and let Dean laugh it off as he gathered up the pitiful remains of the snacks, that feeling, so close to the surface at all times now, surging through him once more.

 _Dean is beautiful_.

 

***

 

Perhaps Castiel was imagining it, but over the next few weeks he noticed Dean reaching out a little more for physical affection. He would initiate hugs, ruffle Jack's hair, touch Sam on the shoulder as he passed.

Once it had been established that these efforts raised no objections however, Castiel knew he wasn't imagining it because it was like a dam broke and Dean, normally so reserved, began following up these touches with the occasional words.

"You're awesome, buddy," he told Jack after the boy revealed that he'd saved the last slice of pie for him,

"Love you, man," he mumbled into Sam's shoulder after a particularly hard hunt, during which Sam had been surrounded by vamps and Dean had lost visual for a few, terrifying seconds. Castiel knew that it had brought flashbacks of the other world when they had gone searching for Mary, noticed the way Dean's hands shook as he grabbed tightly onto Sam's jacket after he had emerged from the press of bodies, bloody but mostly intact.

"You're really fun to hang out with, you know that?" he said to Castiel in a quiet moment, the air still ringing with the sound of their combined laughter after Castiel had insisted he help Dean bake, but one 'misplaced' handful of flour had ended in a full-scale food fight. "Man, is Sam going to be pissed, he's supposed to clean the kitchen tonight."

"Well, you're on laundry so perhaps it balances out." Castiel said, picking up his trenchcoat, which was splattered with egg, flour and icing sugar and handing it to Dean.

"You're not gonna mojo it?" Dean asked, taking the coat and folding it over his arm automatically. Something about the gesture caused the feeling to make itself known in full force.

"I trust you not to ruin it," Castiel said with a smile, "besides, I like the smell of the laundry detergent."

"Jack's pick," Dean said absently, "normally I just go for whichever's cheapest but Jack likes to try all the weird-smelling ones. But yeah, this one's nice, jasmine and ylang-ylang or something pretentious."

"Can scents be pretentious?"

Dean shrugged and carefully placed the trenchcoat on the table, "I guess we should clean this up, huh? It's not really Sam's fault that you started a food fight."

" _I_ started it?" Castiel said, raising an eyebrow, indicating his hair, which, he imagined, was almost completely white after Dean had rubbed a handful of icing sugar into it.

"Yeah!" Dean said with a laugh, "definitely, you started it."

Castiel rolled his eyes fondly before reaching into the mostly empty bag of flour and coating his hand. Dean backed away, raising his hands, eyes wide with alarm, "do  _not_  smush that in my hair!"

"I won't."

Something about his tone gave Dean pause, so he allowed Castiel to approach. With his less-floured hand, he plucked at the capped sleeve of Dean's once-black t-shirt, lifting it. Then he pressed his other hand gently to Dean's bare shoulder for a few seconds before carefully pulling it back and dusting both hands off on his sweatpants, admiring his handiwork.

Dean awkwardly twisted his head so he could see the handprint on his shoulder, then looked at Castiel questioningly, he shrugged.

"I miss it sometimes," he said by way of an explanation, "it's stupid but it was a physical reminder of our bond. In those early days, before I healed it, if I was ever unsure that I was doing the right thing, that mark would remind me."

Dean traced the outline of the palm-print with his fingertips, "why'd you heal it? I meant to ask but what with everything else, I guess I forgot."

"Because it was wrong," Castiel said, staring at the floury mark for a few more seconds before reaching forward to brush it off, the flour crumbled from Dean's skin but Castiel left his hand there, "I claimed you. Hell couldn't hold you if you were claimed for Heaven so I left this brand and it helped with the escape. But you are not mine, Dean Winchester, you belong to yourself. And it was only after I saw you kneeling in that cemetery that I realised it. I trusted that I was doing the right thing by helping you. I didn't need the reminder anymore. We had become friends, and you taught me that friendship must be earned, and it can't be claimed."

Dean's right hand came up to rest over Castiel's, "I miss it sometimes too," he said quietly, "at least when it was there I could be sure that you were around, even if you weren't around."

"I'm here,"

"Yeah," Dean said, his eyes flicking between Castiel's own as though half-afraid he would vanish, "yeah, you are."

They stayed that way for a long time, just looking at each other, Castiel drank in the warmth from where they connected, his hand surrounded by Dean. It felt secure in a way that he hadn't realised he wanted. He stared at the way Dean's tongue darted out to lick his lips, the way his freckles hid behind his delicate blush, the way his eyes dropped lower down Castiel's face.

"Oh. My. God!" Came a voice from the door. Dean jumped away from him as though electrocuted and turned to face Sam. Castiel looked over too, Sam had dropped the grocery bags he was holding and he stared at them in horror.

"What the hell did you guys do to the kitchen?!"

Dean's laugh was forced and awkward, "We'll clean it up, Sammy, don't let your panties give you a wedgie."

"Yeah, you better. It's not  _my_  fault it looks like a bakery exploded!"

Castiel and Dean exchanged grins as Sam stormed off, leaving the groceries where they'd landed. Castiel went to retrieve them and put them away while Dean went to gather the cleaning supplies and started wiping down the counters.

"We're going to need more eggs," Castiel said, unlatching the cardboard container to see that almost half of the eggs in it were leaking clear goo, "Sam must've set the bag down too hard," he began picking the whole eggs out of the mess and washing them before putting them in the empty container from their 'baking'.

"Man, his face was priceless," Dean said, still chuckling as he flicked flour, egg and sugar off the counter with a towel, "totally worth the cleanup."

"As long as we don't make a habit of it," Castiel said, "I wouldn't want to be responsible for giving your brother an aneurysm."

Dean waved a dismissive hand, "Eh, he's walked in on me doing worse."

"Do I even want to know?" Castiel asked sardonically.

"Probably not," Dean conceded, waggling his eyebrows.

"You're ridiculous,"

"And you look like you're going grey," Dean shot back, indicating his hair. Castiel reached up to rub a hand through it and sure enough, a cascade of white fell in front of his eyes.

"It's just bad dandruff," he deadpanned,

Dean barked a laugh, "Well, whatever it is, it looks good. Distinguished even."

Castiel grinned, ignoring the way his chest seemed to clench at the words,

"About time really, I am several billion years old."

"And yet your texts are eighty percent emojis," Dean teased.

"I like languages," Castiel said defensively

"Emojis aren't a language, they're pictures."

"What do you think hieroglyphs are?"

"Old memes," Dean countered.

Castiel opened his mouth to argue, then he sighed, "That's not entirely inaccurate," he said, "humans have always had a way of trying to cram as much meaning as possible into one thing, word or image. It's fascinating, and confusing, even after all these years on Earth," he smiled, " I still worry about misinterpreting."

They lapsed into silence for a few moments while Castiel emptied the grocery bags and added the to the pile of plastic bags just inside the pantry. They had several of those reusable ones but inevitably they would be forgotten just when they were needed. It was usually only when Jack joined them in the task that those bags actually saw the light of day; very environmentally conscious, that one.

When he returned to the kitchen, Dean was still scrubbing at the same spot of egg yolk that he had been when Castiel had left.

"Are you alright?" he asked mildly, recognising the scrunched expression Dean was wearing as one that meant he was deep in thought. Dean stopped scrubbing and squeezed his eyes shut for a moment before straightening up, dropping the towel on the counter, he turned to Castiel, looking determined.

"I guess I should be clear then," he said, and, with the kind of drive usually reserved for missions with possibly apocalyptic consequences, he strode forward and took Castiel's chin in his hands, the gentle touch contrasting oddly with the fire in his eyes.

"Cas," he began, and Castiel tried to ignore the way that his insides felt like they had suddenly decided to reject the laws of gravity, "you've always been there for me when I needed you, you've always had my back when it counted. You were always sorry when you screwed up and you always forgave me when I did. You're funny, you're smart, and you have more kindness in you than I thought was possible. You're my best friend, you're family, but you're something else to me too, and it's taken me a long time to even be able to think about it and I think that's largely down to you as well. You know what I need to hear, even if I don't wanna hear it. I've got no walls around you, 'cause I don't need 'em, 'cause I trust you, more than I've ever trusted anyone I didn't grow up with. I trust you, Cas. With my life, with my soul, I trust you."

Dean swallowed hard, tears welling in his eyes and he took a shuddering breath in as though he hadn't meant to say all of those things at once. Castiel could feel tears on his own face, he hadn't even known he  _could_ cry, but he could for Dean, of course he could. He didn't try to speak, Dean wasn't finished and the idea of words failed him anyway, all he could do was listen and feel the meaning in Dean's voice as it curled through his mind like wisps of smoke, forming patterns and ideas that he had never dared give shape himself.

"And you have helped me learn to trust myself, beyond hunting instinct. In all the little ways that I never thought mattered. You make me feel like I can take on anything," Dean's voice was raspier now, harsher, despite the soft words, "you make me feel braver than I ever thought I could be. And it's stupid, but sometimes you look at me and you make me feel like I'm worth looking at. And no one,  _no one_ has ever made me feel like that before."

 

 _Dean is beautiful,_ The feeling sang in his chest.

_Dean is beautiful,_

_Dean is beautiful, and he sees it too!_

 

"So," Dean continued, pitching his tone lower, those green eyes boring into his, "I want you to know that I love you. I want you to know that I'm brave enough and smart enough to finally tell you that I love you. And I trust you not to leave. And if you don't love me back, if you don't love me the same way, that's okay. I'm happy being your friend and you will always be family. But I gotta ask, because I know that if I pull away now I might never be this strong again, I really wanna kiss you right now, and I wanna know, more than anything, if that would be okay."

Castiel said nothing, he was no longer capable of speech, all of the words had been taken by Dean, everything that had needed to be said was in the air between them, fluttering around them like lightning bugs at dusk. So instead of speaking, he acted, his hands moved up to Dean's hair and he pulled Dean towards him, crashing their lips together. That feeling burst inside him like fireworks, explosions of emotion and intensity and sensory overload; soft thumbs tracing his cheekbones, a tongue meeting his own, the smell of worn leather and damp earth glazed with the thin layer of sweetness that came from the flour and sugar still dusting their clothes and skin, the taste of black coffee and adrenaline, solid heat as Dean pressed closer, their chests touching, the cold shock of the fridge door seeping through the back of his shirt.

"Cas," Dean whispered he broke for air, it resonated inside his head as well as his ears, Dean said it like a prayer and never before had Castiel wanted to be worshipped so desperately,

"Dean," he murmured back, nosing along the snap of Dean's jaw, hoping that his own devotion filled the word, the name that crowded his thoughts, that made him think of safety and warmth and home. There was no one he'd rather pray to. Dean's scent filled his nose, heady and glorious.

 

_Dean is beautiful,_

_Dean is beautiful,_

_I love him, I love him, I love him._

 

The realisation didn't come as a surprise, only the weight of the last piece fitting into a jigsaw, completing the picture, making it whole. So he pressed the words into Dean's neck, into the corner of his mouth, he stroked them into Dean's hair and let them uncurl from his tongue to watch the way Dean's eyes creased in a smile, the way they glowed with the full force of his soul. Dean pulled back from kissing to bury his face in the crook of Castiel's neck. Nuzzling kisses and soft words and gentle sobs into his skin. Castiel held him, his lips in Dean's hair, and began to rock.

He loved this man, he loved him so much that the feeling spilled over into tears. Dean had taught him about family and given him a place in one, when he lost faith in his Father, Dean had been there to tell him he understood. When he had pulled away from the Winchesters to work with Crowley, Dean had defended him. When he was sickening and corrupted by Rowena's attack dog spell, Dean had pulled him back from harming an innocent girl and given him the time to recover afterwards. When he had allowed Lucifer in, Sam had later told him of Dean's unwavering determination to save him, whether or not it worked with their plans for fighting Amara.

So Castiel held him until he was ready, keeping his breaths deep and even until Dean began to sync his own breathing, slowly calming himself. When he pulled back, Castiel let his arms drop but Dean caught one of his hands before it could fall and twined their fingers together, staring at the combination of skin tones as though amazed that this was something he was allowed to do. Castiel used his other hand to stroke from Dean's hairline to his chin. Dean's eyes came back to his and he saw gratitude and love and joy and a little bit of fear. Castiel understood, he felt those things too.

"So what now?" He asked.

Dean huffed out a disbelieving laugh, "I- I don't really know," he said, voice rough with emotion, "this was about as far as my plan went and I didn't really think that it would turn out so good."

Castiel smiled, "you still doubt yourself?"

"No," Dean said, and he sounded surprised by his own answer, "I know what I want. But it's not just me that's gotta want it."

"So you doubt me?"

There was no blame in the statement, Castiel sought only to understand.

"Maybe a little," Dean admitted, and Castiel felt pride course through him at the honesty, "but more than that I doubt that the world will let us have this. And I'm scared about what that means. I can't lose you again, Cas. I was a mess last time and now that I  _know_ , I can't build another pyre for you."

"In that event," Castiel said, swallowing hard, trying not to think of the last time he had thought Dean was lost to him, "I don't think it will make much of a difference. I know that losing you would destroy me, whether or not we let ourselves have this. So why not let ourselves have this? Why choose to keep denying what we feel for an eventuality when we can choose love right now? I love you, and my loving you is not conditional on whether or not we kiss again."

Dean looked at him for a long moment, no, not at him,  _through_  him, and his eyes showed nothing but love. Castiel imagined that if Dean were capable of seeing his true form, it might feel something like this.

"You make a good point," he said, squeezing Castiel's hand like he was just reminding himself of the contact, like he was making sure that it was real, "and I  _really_  liked it when you were kissing me."

"Good," Castiel said lightly, "because I plan on doing that a lot."

Dean chuckled leaned forwards to capture Castiel's mouth again, this one was short, sweet, and felt like the sealing of a promise.

"We should probably actually clean this up before Sam tries to beat us to death with a mop," Dean said, reluctantly pulling away, "and we should probably tell him about… you know, us, at some point, Jack too."

"Whenever you're ready," Castiel assured him, "but I have no doubts that they will be happy for us."

"Yeah," Dean said quietly like it was the most amazing idea, "I think they really would be."

Castiel gently unlaced his fingers from Dean's and a few minutes later they had returned to cleaning with an exchange of shy smiles. Castiel watched as Dean picked up the towel again and shook it out so that even more white dust fell to the floor.

He just couldn't hold it in any longer.

"Dean?"

"Yeah?" Dean said, looking up, caught off-guard by Castiel's voice.

"You're beautiful."

Dean blushed, but he smiled, "Thanks, Cas."

**Author's Note:**

> So what do you think? Was it worth the weeks I spent agonising over it? I hope so but I'm really not sure about this one. I hope the dialogue wasn't too clunky, and I hope the in-between stuff flowed. I think I also changed the tone about halfway through and I'm not too sure it worked. I'm doubting myself. But in my defense, I am very tired.
> 
> Comments and kudos keep me warm at night. I love hearing from you guys. If you wanna drop me a line, come find me on [my tumblr](https://tibbinswrites.tumblr.com/)
> 
> Love Tibbins xx


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